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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018167">accessory to someone else's victory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsharks/pseuds/lemonsharks'>lemonsharks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Annette commits to the hug, Crimson Rose spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone has the PTSD, F/M, Felix also commits to the hug, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Time Skip, Post-War, and you find out making peace is so much harder than making war, no beta we die like Glenn, various other characters - Freeform, you can't go home again but then you have to</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:47:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018167</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsharks/pseuds/lemonsharks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Recruited to the Black Eagles house, Felix and Annette must live with the aftermath of killing their fathers while the rest of their comrades celebrate victory over the Enlightened One.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>accessory to someone else's victory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>(I don't even go here.)</p><p>Someday I will write fic that is more comfort than hurt. Today is not that day.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The ash of Fhirdiad has ground itself into Felix's skin. He catches sight of his face the restful sheen of the Aegis Shield, scrubbed clean with his other gear that first night in lieu of joining the others. It turns his stomach, raises a sour gorge he bites back with a snarl, witness to a different--<em>better?</em>--version of the man who covers it with oilcloth and packs to trudge wetly back to Garreg Mach. </p><p>The afternoon that the monastery comes back into sight, Caspar gives a whoop of joy and Petra urges her pegasus into a high skyward spiral with an ease of homecoming none of them deserve. Felix scrapes the last of his father's blood from beneath his fingernails with the tip of his belt knife. Rations are slim today; they've sent word on ahead for a feast to be prepared. He cuts the roof of his mouth on a hard roll and washes down the taste of iron and irony with water long since warmed from its time in his canteen. </p><p>Annette, thirty feet away in the shade of an ancient sycamore, does not join Dorothea, Manuela, and Ferdinand in an improvised, patriotic refrain. All <em>glory to the Adrestia</em> and <em>behold the Emp'ror's dawn</em>--he doesn't blame her. He would shut it out himself if he had cotton to stuff into his ears. </p><p>"Felix," Edelgard says, standing suddenly very close to the log where he'd taken his seat alone. </p><p>He doesn't stand; he does nod and move over a little, gesturing for their immortal, illustrious leader to sit beside him. She holds still for a moment and then accepts his invitation with only the slightest, fleeting indication of a frown marring her otherwise still features. </p><p>"Your Majesty," he says, trying to keep the sneer from his voice. </p><p>He doesn't <em>know</em> Edelgard as he knew Dimitri. All offers of parlay to their enemies aside, he can't count on her tolerance the way he could the boar's, five years ago, ten, a lifetime. </p><p>"Thirsty?" he tries again, offering his canteen. </p><p>Edelgard waves him off; Felix drinks and fidgets with the cap. She watches his profile like the raptor she is, while Felix stares ahead. </p><p>"I have a proposition for you," she says. </p><p>"I thought you might, eventually." </p><p>He settles the cap shut on the canteen and turns at the waist, not enough to disturb his seat. </p><p>"You know my plans to dismantle our current system of nobility, and--" </p><p>"Fraldarius is yours to do with as you please. You can even have the shield. Goddess kn--" Felix stops himself with a cut-off laugh. "That is, I want nothing more to do with either of them."</p><p>"We appreciate your sacrifice greatly, Felix, but that isn't what I came to ask you."</p><p>He wants to say, <em>It's no sacrifice of mine,</em> and <em>Let Ingrid annex Fraldarius territory with Galatea,</em> but Ingrid is as dead as Rodrigue, if by a different hand. All of the Blue Lions are, save him and Annette, left to live with themselves in the aftermath of the professor's opaque, impulsive decisions. </p><p>Felix hates the growing chasm in his chest at their memory. It burns at the edges, more like frostbite coming back to temperature than like fire. </p><p><em>Fire, you can pull away from,</em> he thinks.</p><p>He wants to tell her she should have burned in the flames of the city they couldn't save, to snap and snarl, but some part of him holds himself back. Felix can't say whether it's a better part, or just more exhausted. </p><p>"Go on," he says. He lets himself slip into a slouch. </p><p>Now Edelgard looks away, at the dust of cleaning up that rises where their animals have been posted for the hour. Her voice is strong with conviction, though it carries only as far as she wants it to--no further than Felix's own ear. "We want to keep local administration intact, where we can, and Faerghus requires a person of Faerghus to at its head."</p><p>"Your Majesty--"</p><p>"The professor and I agree that you are the best person to govern it."</p><p>"I-- "</p><p>He stops. <em>Can't or won't?</em> </p><p>Both words stick in his throat while Edelgard rises, her piece said and proposition given. </p><p>Return to the homeland he helped wreck with the machines and machinations of war? Return to lead the families of the people he'd struck down with blade and crackling magic, return and assume-- </p><p>What? </p><p>Authority to which he has no right, of either blood or deed? He laughs at the absurdity of it. The emperor wants <em>him</em>? To <em>govern</em>? </p><p>"I ought to refuse just to see whether or not you'll cut me down for it."</p><p>His words crack the gentle smile on Edelgard's face, turning her tight-lipped and tight-shouldered. She breathes a royal breath, draws steadying air into her lungs with the practiced ease of one who's been trained to it. <em>She</em> rules all of Fódlan now, an inheritance centuries in coming; he <em>ought</em> to be no more than a younger son with nothing else besides sharp mind and a sharper blade to make his living.</p><p>"Think about it, Felix."</p><p>And he will, since she's given him so very much to think about, without any consideration for whether or not he wants it at all. </p>
<hr class="hr"/><p>There is, of course, a feast and a celebration. The smells of roasting meat and frying dough fill the air, welcoming the heroes home along with music and torchlight and sparkling magical firecrackers someone has dug up from somewhere. A bonfire raises sparks high into the night sky directly outside the door to the Blue Lions' old classroom, scorching grass and drawing moths and mosquitoes to their gruesome, crackling ends. </p><p>Former Eagles and other denizens of Garreg Mach toast confections and bread and hard cheeses on sticks at the bonfire. </p><p>The night air hangs thick with mountain jasmine in full flower and the promise of rain, the sky intermittently clear, the full moon low and impossibly bright above them. Beer, liquor, and wine all flow freely, all with the monastery brewer's blessing. There are speeches, too loud and too soft and none of them rehearsed, as every single person in attendance bites back the goddess's name. </p><p>Linhardt even asks him to dance, in a lull between songs. Felix rebuffs him, to Lysithea's unalloyed delight. </p><p>"Are you <em>sure</em> you're <em>sure</em>?" the girl asks. "He may never expend this much energy in one place again, after all. Have you <em>ever</em> danced before? I don't think he has."</p><p>"Now that--" Linhardt begins, but his voice is lost over the din of the next song, the next raucous round of rising voices, and Lysithea's chiming laugh as she takes the leading part. </p><p>Even the sober among them have shrugged off their burdens for the night. Felix abandons the reverie for the ruined cathedral's promised quiet, and spares Hubert a nod in silent greeting as they pass in the hallway. His small, private smile looks out of place and discomfiting on such a cheerless bat of a man. </p><p>The cathedral gates and doors have been left flung open and forgotten, and the muted sound of carousing reaches his ears even here. Felix drags his hand along the back of a pew and focuses instead on his own footsteps, his own breathing. He <em>could</em> be in the practice court, yes. Any other night he would be, but that sacred space has been overtaken with the joy of life in victory. </p><p>He has no place there tonight, and solitude--</p><p>Is also denied him, Felix realizes, as he catches the sound of a strangled sob from the direction of the saints' shrine. </p><p>He follows the sound on heavy feet, loud enough his unexpected companion will--should--hear him coming. And if she doesn't? Well, it's her own fault for being off her guard. </p><p>Annette sits cross-legged before the gilded statue of Saint Cichol, hands in her lap clutching a lumpy wooden doll. She sniffles loudly and drags one palm across each of her eyes, still for a moment before another sob wracks her small frame. </p><p>Is there anything here tonight of the--frankly terrifying--gremory who fought so often at his side these last years? He can't say with certainty. She carries no weapon, not even her book of spells, and she's discarded the gremory's gown with it's hundred lethal little pockets in favor of loose trousers and a well-mended blouse. She has neither ease nor intent.</p><p>One well-placed gale and she could cut him clean in two, but Felix knows she won't. That she wouldn't, even at her grouchiest after a rash of his teasing. He has no teasing left in him tonight. Maybe ever. </p><p>"I know you're standing here, you know," she says, voice surprisingly level. </p><p>"I know," Felix says. </p><p>He steps properly inside this new relic of the age they've just closed, surrounded by the silent emissaries of a liar's goddess. The saints are soulless crumbling stone underneath paint and plaster, lit with a handful of fragrant candles at their feet. </p><p>Annette's doing, wax from her room and flame from her hand. Treasonous, in the world they now inhabit. </p><p>He pulls a clean handkerchief from his vest and drops it unceremoniously into her lap. Lets his fingers rest on Annette's hair while she dabs her eyes briefly dry and blows her nose. She leans into his touch as she looks up at him; Felix feels his chest tighten at the contact. </p><p>He <em>wants</em> to pull away, and he <em>should</em>. Instead he tugs her closer, until she rests her cheek against his thigh. Annette shudders once, the tremors of it shaking both of them, and gives him a pathetic little <em>thanks</em>. As they gaze upward he's sure they each see a separate ghost.</p><p>She can have her pathos, Felix decides. After all, Annette had still loved <em>her</em> father. </p><p>"Did you know I tried to bring him back?" she says. "I did. I did it. After I'd all but cooked him inside his armor--it's no wonder I couldn't-- I--"</p><p>She hurls the wooden doll at Saint Cichol with the force of a storm. It bounces off and lands with a thud behind them, and Annette <em>screams</em>, the wordless keening of grief held too tight, too long. </p><p>The shriek and boom of a proper fire<em>work</em> answers her, back on the academy lawn: too much, too close, and where had they even <em>found</em> such a thing? </p><p>No training prepared him for this--for being an accessory to someone else's victory. </p><p>Annette reaches up and grabs the hand still resting against her hair. The next thing Felix knows he's come down to his knees beside her, tucked her head beneath his chin and wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders. </p><p>Her voice is muffled against his shirt when she speaks next, after long shaking moments. </p><p>"He said he was sorry I'd chosen the Empire," Annette says, followed by a short, bitter laugh. "But if I'd known, I-- I don't--" </p><p>"Mine said it was his duty to settle my failures," he replies. </p><p>"That isn't true." </p><p>"Isn't it?"</p><p>Annette squeezes him so tightly Felix thinks she might crack a rib, an image that brings the smallest smile to his face. He holds on just as tightly, the staccato of their hearts and breaths finally, <em>finally</em> louder than their comrades' distant revelry. </p><p>He wants to hold on forever, wants to slip out tonight exactly as they are, disappear in the havoc that always follows war. He doesn't have a blade on him now, but he could find one, and make a living easily. A handful of different paths branch out before him in parallel, each of them as bloody as the last. </p><p>All of them converging on a point where he becomes the thing he's spent so very, very long hating. </p><p>Felix slowly disentangles himself from Annette, moving to sit sprawled with his back to the wall and a good view out the annex door. Annette joins him shortly, tucking herself beneath his arm and she fits so well it <em>aches</em> to have her there. </p><p>No one coming through the main entrance of the cathedral will find them here if they aren't looking, and Annette is like a tiny furnace burning beside him against the mountain cold. </p><p>"I'm not going back there tonight," he says. </p><p>"Me neither. Everything we did--" she begins, but Felix cuts her off. </p><p>"Do you have a song for a night like this?" </p><p>"All the ones I try come out too sad. We have to go back sometime, though. What then?" </p><p>
  <em>What then?</em>
</p><p>Felix knows what he cannot do. He cannot turn back the hands of time, un-kill their fathers or their friends. He cannot disappear into the mist, to let Annette face a united Adrestia alone. Not after tonight.</p><p>He cannot set foot on Fraldarius territory, to live as an apology to the people who will look at him and see a traitor. Unqualified. Untrustworthy. </p><p>Felix has never seen a wall he can't tear down, but he also knows how to walk through a door. However much it feels like surrender. </p><p>At least the party's dying down across the bridge, by the sound of things. </p><p>"Tomorrow I need to talk to Edelgard," he says at last. The next words are long in coming, but they do not stick. "I'd like you to come with me when I do."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>@ me on... </p><p>tumblr: lemonsharks<br/>twitter: candicewashere_</p><p>And where are all these FE3H discords I keep hearing about? Normally I live alone in my hole in rarepair hell but/and I wanna make FRIENDS.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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